Scabior remembers the scent of her, the subtle sweetness of her perfume that drew his attention when he couldn’t see her. She smells the same now, tinged with the anxiety of her own fear, and he thinks Oh, I’d like to keep you all for myself, you lovely thing. He briefly considers how he could achieve such a thing.

His suspicion regarding the ugly boy’s identity quashes this possibility and where he may have taken them leisurely back to the Ministry, perhaps played his cards right to keep the girl for himself, he realizes that treating this group like any of the others he caught would be a mistake.

The people he works for do not take kindly to wasted time and he does not take kindly to a profit that is ignored based purely upon a lack of foresight. He makes the call quite easily to take them directly to Malfoy Manor.

But still, she is so pretty to look at and he watches her with dark, dark eyes and wets his lips as he inhales her scent. He smiles when she recoils, looks upon him with such evident disgust, and he promises with his looks, the way he grips her arm and digs his fingers in, that were he given more time with her he would enjoy the challenge of changing that expression upon her face.

He’s always liked challenges, the chase that sends the blood pumping, and she would be a lovely one to catch.

He lets the thought warm him as he and his Snatchers take the three away from the forest, to deliver them into hands that are most likely certainly more dangerous than his.

Later, when he escapes that house with his life still miraculously intact, curses that mad witch with every ounce that fear and hate can muster, he regrets having to leave her there. He isn’t a fool and knows she shall suffer, likely horribly at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange, but he tries to comfort himself with the knowledge that he tried. He had tried to hex the witch (had failed) and would the opportunity presented itself he would have tried to take that girl with him (so he tells himself), that pretty, clever girl with her soft serious eyes and her sweet smelling hair.

He tries to imagine himself as the hero in a story that certainly has none and laughs to himself at the absurdity of it, once his nerves have calmed and he has collected himself enough to pretend that the earlier encounter had not terrified and awed him.

The threat of Voldemort’s presence, the thrill of his own success, the terror of Lestrange’s madness, and that girl, looking scared but so determined. Beautiful and probably dead by now.

There is a war going on, Scabior is quite certain he is on the winning side and that is all that matters.

Still though, he finds himself hoping she survived. He finds himself hoping to see her again.

He already knows how fast she can run. He looks froward to giving chase.

Hallowed Riddle 6

Some have two, others one,And believe it or not, some have none.They can be shaped or drawnAnd they'll move with a yawn.Perhaps on Miss G., they moved too much.